


He’s Alive, But Does He Want To Be?

by Tonystarkisaslut



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, Clint Barton (Mentioned) - Freeform, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fuck Nugget character, Gore, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Mutilation, Natasha Romanov (mentioned) - Freeform, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Violence, thats a tag????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonystarkisaslut/pseuds/Tonystarkisaslut
Summary: During a mission, something bad happens that drastically changes Peter’s life forever.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	1. After

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Satanicstarker, who has inspired me to write Darkfics.

“I don’t fucking _care_ , Fury! Where the absolute fuck is he?!” He screams, his suit whirring to life and the fire behind Tony’s eyes enough to scare even the fearless in the room.

Fury sighs heavily, and repeats himself. “For the last time, we don’t _know_. He was captured. We don’t know to where. We have no way of finding him, other than waiting for a body to show up or some sort of ransom-“

Suddenly it’s quiet, because Friday interrupts. She never does this. But she’s frantic, insisting it’s necessary. She starts to play a video and-

And Tony staggers. He almost falls over. He would have, had Steve not caught him. “F-Friday, trace-“

“Already on it, boss.” She replies.

Tony stares in complete and utter horror. Much like everyone else in the room. “Oh my _god_ ,” he hears Natasha say. It’s bad, if it surprises even her.

“Found. Coordinates plugged into your-“ Tony is already flying before Friday starts the second sentence.

~

Tony took out everyone in his path. He let Friday tell him where to go, and he shot everyone on the way. He finds the room, blows the door open and-

And he was too late. He took too long. He was too later.

He kills everyone in the room. The doctors, the nurses, the cameramen. The ones with their dicks out, the ones with their dicks _inside_ of-

He kills them. All. “Oh my god...” he hears Natasha whisper.

Tony falls to his knees, the second the suit slides out. He crawls to Peter, pushes the _monster_ on top of him away, out of him. He sobs violently as he touches Peter, feelings his chest rise and fall underneath his hand. He’s alive. He’s alive.

“Will he want to be alive after this?” Natasha asks. Was he talking out loud?

Tony grits his teeth, petting over Peter’s chest. “I’m take-taking him to Strange.” He’s back in his suit before she can answer, and already flying off by the time she calls his name. He doesn’t listen to her. Peter needs _help_.

~

Tony doesn’t move from Peter’s bedside. Not when he was in surgery, not when he’s resting. Not when Strange tells him to fuck off. Not when he’s begging and pleading Strange to go back in time and stop it from happening in the first place. He didn’t leave.

So he’s there, when Peter finally wakes up. He’s there to see the hurt and confusion wash over his face as he notices he’s in a hospital. He sees the confusion turn to panic as he realizes he can’t sit up. He watches the panic turn to terror when he turns to see Tony, wiggling uselessly. “What- what- Tony- wha-“

“Shhhh.” Tony shushes him, scooting closer to the side of the bed. “Can I... can I touch you?”

Peter sobs violently, shaking his head. “What the hell is happening? What’s going on? What happened?!”

Tony shushes him again, already tearing up. He doesn’t know if he can... he pulls the covers down, feeling like he’s going to be sick.

It’s nothing compared to the sick feeling he gets when Peter starts screaming.

Strange comes rushing in, relaxing a bit when he sees that everything is under control. Peter isn’t dying. He’s just wishing he was. “Peter, Peter! Peter, look at me.”

After being coaxed down from his panic attack, Peter is still crying but he’s no longer screaming.

“Do you want to know from me or from Tony?” Strange asks. Peter looks between them, before looking at Tony. He’s still sobbing, and Tony doesn’t know if he can even speak. But he has to.

So he does. “You were-you were captured.” He stops, clears his throat. He lets out a shaky breath before continuing. “We couldn’t f-find you. Until-until they started st-streaming it. What they were d-doing to you.” He closes his eyes as Peter sobs harder, and Strange has to make him calm down again. He doesn’t want to keep going. But he has to. “I don’t know how many... how many of them... I... they r-raped you. I don’t-“ Peter looks like he wants to curl in on himself. But he can’t. He can’t because- “they cut off your arms and legs. Peter, I-I-“

He can’t raise his voice over Peter’s screaming, sobs of denial and agonizing begging, bargaining, anger at the unfairness of it all.

Tony stares at his lap, tears falling down his face in cascades. Strange tries to calm Peter down, but Tony doesn’t. If this had happened to him, he would want to kill anyone who tried to tell him it would be okay. He knows it isn’t going to be okay.

For the first time, Tony leaves.

~

“Sir, it has been 6 days and 14 hours since you last slept. I suggest-“

“Thanks, baby girl, but I’m not sleeping.” He says, sipping more coffee.

There’s silence for a moment, and then— “Boss, Mr. Rogers wishes to see you. I had been telling him to go away, but-“

Tony sighs heavily. “Whatever. Let him in. Not like he can force me to sleep.”

He hears Steve enter, but he doesn’t look up from his work. He feels Steve sit next to him. He ignores Steve as he works, and he doesn’t know how long the silence lasts, but he doesn’t give in first.

Steve sighs loudly, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “He needs you, Tony.” Is all he says.

Tony grits his teeth, hands starting to shake. “No, he doesn’t. What he _needs_ is his arms and legs. He _needed_ me, past tense. And I let him-“ he sucks in a harsh breath, shaking his head as he gets back to work. “This one is like Bucky’s arm. I think. He won’t let me look at it. But it should connect flawlessly, wires to nerves. Painful, but it should work. This one is more like the suit, it’ll connect to Karen and he can control his limbs through her. It’ll cause small delays in his actions; he won’t be able to be spider man. I don’t know if I should even show them to him. This one-“

“How many of these have you made, Tony?” Comes Steve’s soft, concerned voice.

Tony swallows thickly. “Only 16. He’ll hate all of them. None of them are good enough. None of them-none... are...”

Steve stands up, pulling Tony into a hug. “Ask it.”

Tony shakes his head, holding Steve in a death drip.

Steve squeezes him a bit tighter. “Just ask. You need to know.”

Tony sobs, something he’s never done in front of Steve. He takes a moment to collect himself before he nods minutely. “He’s alive...”

“He’s alive,” Steve agrees.

“But... he’s alive but... but does he want... does he _want_ to be?”

Steve pulls back, looking Tony directly in the eye. “Yes. He does. He _does_ , Tony. He’s heart broken, he’s embarrassed, he’s depressed. All that is true. But he keeps talking about how hard it’s going to be to live like this. Because he’s going to live like this, Tony. He’s choosing to live.”

Maybe Tony breaks down into tears. Maybe he screams and throws Steve out. Maybe neither happens and he gets back to work. Neither man will ever say.

~

“Okay kid, you got options.”

Pete listens, a hopeless look on his face. None of them sound good. None of them are having his _limbs_ back.

“I... I don’t know, Tony. I guess the ones... the ones like Bucky. They let me move the most.” Peter looks away, staring out the window.

Tony nods, biting his tongue. “You’ll have... you’ll have to take them off, ba-Peter. So they don’t tear your body apart. You can only have them on for so long.”

Peter curls in on himself, but he nods. “If I get to be Spider-Man for even a few hours a day, it’ll be worth it.” It’ll be worth staying alive.

Tony nods, tears welling in his eyes. Why can’t he come up with something better? He clears his throat. “I um... I’ll get the best surgeons in the entire world down here, okay? We’ll have you walking in less than 24 hours.”

Peter only nods, his jaw clenched tight. He looks out the window still. Tony takes it as his dismissal.

~

A month. It takes a fucking month for Peter to feel comfortable in his new arms and legs.

Peter hated it. Still hates it. He can do everything he used to now, after all the physical therapy. But he hurts constantly. He can go max 12 hours in it if he’s relaxed and calm. 8 if he has to move. 6 if he actually tries to do things, like exercise or write. 2-3 at a time for patrols.

Peter spends most of his time a useless stump, and he fucking hates it. He can’t fucking _pee_ without Tony doing it for him. He can’t feed himself. He can only tinker in the lab if he doesn’t patrol, but it starts hurting so fucking bad. All he can do is watch TV or lay their uselessly, if he wants to do it himself.

The worst part, though? _Tony_.

The way his boyfriend looks at him. Stares at him. It isn’t what Peter expected.

Tony doesn’t look at him with pity. He doesn’t look at him like he’s disgusted. No, he looks _guilty_. And Peter fucking hates it.

Every time Tony has to hold his dick so he pees. Every time he has to scrub Peter from head to toe in a bath. Every time Peter crawls or scoots as best he can without limbs. Every time Peter cries. He looks _guilty_.

Peter can’t stand it. He spends as little time with Tony as possible.

~

After 6 months, Peter is used to it. He’s much better at being Spider-Man than he was when he first started. He can go to school without wanting to die. He made himself a toilet that attaches to the bed, so he can pee without Tony’s help. He’s independent. For the most part.

Which is why he feels a sudden annoyance, that Tony still looks so guilty. “I’m fucking _fine_ , Tony. I’m fine, okay? Stop looking at me like that.”

Tony winces, turning back to his Starkpad. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Stop apologizing! It isn’t your fault, and even if it was, I’m fine!” Peter yells. He knows he’s just picking a fight. But god fucking dammit, he wants a fucking fight. Beating up bad guys is good and all, but he hasn’t gotten off in half a year and he’s _dying_.

Tony winces again, opening his mouth several times before he sighs. “I found a new therapist for you. She isn’t perfect, she’s used to treating military vets who-“

“I don’t want a fucking therapist!” Peter yells. He wiggles so much he face plants on the bed, and he sobs in embarrassment before righting himself. Tony learned a long time ago that helping Peter when that happens is a very quick way to need stitches in your fingers.

Tony winces again, not looking up from his Starkpad. He knows there’s no way to win this. Peter is hurting, hurting beyond anything healthy coping mechanisms can work for. Tony knows he just has to take it and hope that Peter at least feels a little better after. “I know, but you really need one Peter. You can’t go through this alone-“

“I’m never alone! Not for one god damn fucking second, because _you_ are breathing down my god fucking neck all the fucking time!” Peter is sobbing now, but he’s ignoring it so Tony will ignore it.

Tony doesn’t remember when Peter went from ‘crap is a badword’ to this, but he doesn’t blame him. It just makes him sad. “I... do you want me to go?” Tony asks, and it doesn’t sound anything like him. It’s the fake him, it’s the mask that he hadn’t worn around Peter since they started dating. It’s the voice he gives to reporters when they ask questions a little too intimate. It’s the voice he uses on Pepper when she asks how he’s holding up. It’s the ‘you made me feel vulnerable and I’m not going to let you see it’ voice.

So Peter knows, he _knows_ he’s gone too far. But he’s angry and he’s in pain and he can’t slam any doors or storm off so he does the next best thing. “ _Yes_. Yes, I want you to go away. Go away and leave me alone and never come back. I never want to see you again! I _hate_ you! I hate you, I hate you I hate you I hate you! Go away, just go away!”

Tony grabs his glasses from the nightstand, quickly making the shades activate. He gets out of the bed, leaving Peter’s limbs on the bed so he can get them on himself. He makes quick work, because he doesn’t know how many times he can hear Peter say ‘I hate you’ before he breaks, and he can’t break yet. Not yet. Not until he’s left, not until Peter can’t see him.

He rushes out of the bedroom, softly clicking the door shut behind him. “Friday,” he calls, voice thick and gruff. He clears his throat, puts on his best show voice. “Watch him. If he calls for help, send Natasha or Steve up.” He doesn’t wait for her response. He goes to his lab, ignoring concerned looks from people as he flies down the stairs—the elevator would take too long.

Once he’s in his lab he locks the doors, restricts all access from anyone who had it before. He goes to his liquor cabinet. 5 years sober, Tony tells himself as he hesitates. Is it worth 5 years?

Tony closes his eyes, remembering the hatred in Peter’s eyes, in his voice. They way he looked so betrayed, so heartbroken. He reaches for a bottle but stops.

Does he deserve an escape? Does he deserve the sweet release of black-out? Does he deserve to be able to feel good, even for a few hours? Does he deserve to stop hating himself for even a minute?

He closes the cabinet, hands shaking so hard it reminds him of his panic attacks. He used to drink for those, too, he vaguely thinks about.

He sits next to the cabinet on the floor, putting his head between his knees. He pulls his hair, entire body shaking and aching with the words Peter screams at him. _I_ ** _hate_** _you_. He deserves them. He deserves for Peter to hate him.

He falls asleep, curled up in the fetal position, on the floor of his lab, in front of his liquor cabinet.

~

A week passes. _I never want to see you again._

Tony is good. He works on stuff. He sits in the corner. He fills out paper work that Pepper. He does what’s expected of him. _Just go away!_

He stays good. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t hurt himself. He doesn’t kill himself. _I hate you._

He stays in the lab. _Never come back._

People have tried, and failed, to make Tony come back out. Clint tried breaking into the lab. This was built to withstand the wrath of Thanos, idiot. You can’t break in.

Natasha tried talking him out. Saying Peter needs him. Saying he’s needed at work. Saying everyone misses him. None of that works either.

Steve yells at Tony. Calls him a coward. Calls him selfish. Tony isn’t affected; if he were selfish he would be in Peter’s bed. If he were a coward he would have drank or killed himself.

Tony stays away, because he was told to. Peter will never have to look at Tony ever again. He’ll never have to talk to him. Never have to rely on him. Tony is as much of a ghost as he can be.

It’s after two months of this, of isolation and not-sleeping on the lab floor and daily visits from cheerleaders trying to coax him out of the room, that he almost breaks.

Peter is there. Standing outside the lab door, one metal arm scratching the back of his neck and the other resting on the com button.

Tony freezes. He can’t tell if the exhaustion has finally got to him and he’s hallucinating, or if he did something wrong and now Peter is here to yell at him again. He doesn’t know which one he’s hoping for.

“Friday, is...”

“Mr. Parker is here to see you, sir. He’s requesting access but of course, I informed him no one is allowed in currently.”

Tony rubs at his eyes, grabbing his glasses and sliding them on. If Peter needs a punching bag he’s ready to be one, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep his face neutral. So, the glasses will have to help. “Let him in.”

Peter jumps a bit as the door slides open, and he sheepishly walks inside. He looks around, frowning. “Steve said you slept in here. Where do you sleep?”

Tony takes a minute to calm himself. “On the floor. Should have brought a couch down, wish I had thought about it.”

Peter’s face does something Tony can’t recognize, and Tony quickly looks away.

“Why? Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you sleep on Steve’s couch or something?” Peter asks.

Tony doesn’t hesitate this time. “This is the only place I could think of that I knew for certain you wouldn’t have to see me. Even by accident.”

Peter winces, and Tony suddenly regrets opening his mouth. “You didn’t come back,” Peter says.

Tony lets out a shaky breath. “You told me not to,” he says. His voice is so fake it makes Tony’s stomach hurt. He never wanted to use this voice on Peter.

“You... you took it literally?” Peter seems more annoyed than surprised, and Tony doesn’t know how to feel about that.

So Tony decides to just answer the question and move on. “Yes. Peter, I get it. I would hate me too. I would never want to see me again too. I completely understand. I’m just... I’m just trying to make it easy on you. Or, as easy as possible.”

Peter’s face contorts in pain, and Tony reaches forward on instinct before he pulls his hand back so hard he’s half-wondering if he pulled a muscle. “Tony... you... god, I’m so stupid.” Tony winces this time, shaking his head, but Peter keeps going. “I didn’t think you would take it literally. I thought you knew I was just angry. I didn’t mean any of it...”

Tony stares at a spot just behind Peter’s head, eyes full of pain. But Peter can’t see. “It’s okay, Peter. It’s okay to feel that way. You-“

“I’ve been seeing someone-“ Peter blurts out, interrupting Tony. Tony can’t help it, his face screws up in pain. Glasses can’t hide that. But before he can say that’s okay too, Peter shakes his head and laughs nervously. “ _Very_ bad choice of words-I’m seeing a _therapist_. Because-because you said I needed one and... and you were right. I feel a lot better... about myself. What happened. Adjusting to everything... to me. Working through everything that’s scary and gross and wrong. She’s really thorough... she knew I was hiding something. And that-that something is the reason I lashed out so much.”

Tony splutters. He doesn’t know what to make of this. This is so different than how he thought this was going to go. “I...”

“I want you to talk to her. I want her to tell you what we’ve been... what we’ve been working on. And then I want to talk. Together.” Peter says.

Tony can’t help it. He walks over, reaching his hand out to touch Peter’s face. When the boy only watches and doesn’t pull away, he cups his cheek softly, looking between his eyes. A metal hand comes up and keeps his hand pinned to his cheek. For the first time, Tony thinks that maybe, just maybe... they’ll be okay.

~

It’s been a year since it happened. And... and they’ve come a long way. Five months of therapy, individual and couples, tends to help a lot.

The first time Tony caught up with what Peter was doing, it shocked him to his very core. Now, it’s normal, and talked about, communication is key after all.

It only took three months to convince Tony that this is considered a **_healthy_** coping mechanism; that turning something Peter was afraid of, something that happened to him against his will, into something he is in control of and can stop at any time is healthy.

But he hasn’t been ready until now.

They did practices. Half-ways and bits and pieces. But this is supposed to be the time that they go all the way, from start to finish. Unless Peter safe words, of course, in which case they talk to their therapists and try again.

It’s happening... he wonders if he’s more scared than Peter is.

~

“STOP! STOP, please, it hurts!” Peter wails.

Tony growls, pushing down on Peter’s back roughly. He pushes three fingers roughly in and out of him, and the dryness is almost enough to make him wince. But they’ve been through this before. Peter needs it to be dry, needs it to hurt. At least for this scene. “Stop squirming and be a good little fuck nugget, okay?” He says.

Peter whimpers, sobbing and still struggling. “Stop! Please stop, please, anything else b-but—“

Tony slaps Peter’s ass, making the boy Yelp. “This is all you’re fucking good for, don’t you get it? It’s why I got rid of your arms and legs. You don’t need them to be a fuck hole.” Tony is glad Peter can’t see him, because he’s starting to enjoy this a little more than he feels like he should. He pulls his fingers out, lines himself up, but pauses.

“Please Tony, please stop! I’ll be a good boy, I promise! Just please, everything hurts, I want-I want-“

Tony slaps his ass again, and uses his clean hand to pull his hair back. “Stop fucking whining, it’s so annoying! Just accept that this is all you’re fucking good for. I thought it would be enough to put in your stupid little head if I took your limbs.”

Peter wails as Tony’s cock pushes into him, and he sobs as he tries his best to wiggle away. It doesn’t work. He’s helpless. He loves it. “Tony!”

Tony pauses, petting a hand down Peter’s hip. “Too much? Color?”

Peter takes a deep breath and shakes his head, sniffling. “No, it’s _so_ good Tony, I’m green. Can you—can you hurt my face too?”

Tony pulls out and flips Peter, before sliding back in. “That outta keep you still. Like a useless fucking turtle. Turned over and you can’t do shit now. Perfect.”

Peter screams and sobs, as Tony’s hips start snapping into Peter’s overly accessible hole. “Tony! Please stop, please, it-“

Tony slaps him across the face hard, enough to leave a pink handprint. Peter wails, but his cock twitches so Tony doesn’t ask his color. He doesn’t wanna ruin it by asking too much. He’s supposed to trust Peter to tell him if he isn’t green. “Shut the fuck up! Jesus Christ, do I need to put a cock down your throat too? Is that the only way you’ll be silent for once?”

Peter sobs, breath hiccuping as hes fucked into harder than Tony ever has before. Everything feels so fucking good. “Tony _please_! Please stop, please, anything but this, I want my limbs back, please!” He sobs.

Tony slaps him again, before punching his mouth. Peter sobs and wails, but his bloody mouth doesn’t talk anymore. He almost stops to ask but Peter suddenly cums untouched, wailing and screaming in pure bliss.

Tony can’t help it. The look on his face—the look of relief, calm, peace—it pushes Tony over the edge. He finishes inside Peter, groaning into his shoulder.

After a bit he pulls out, petting Peter’s hair. “How... how do you feel?” He asks softly. The ‘did I do okay’ goes unspoken.

Peter hums, a very sleepy smile on his bloodied face. “‘S so good. Thank you.”

Tony beams, his heart warming. “Do you think... do you think it’s better? Feeling like I’m the one who did it to you?”

Peter nods, shoulders moving and Tony knows he wants to be cuddled so he does. “Yeah. Next time, can we do yours? Where you do the... the...”

“The worshiping thing?” Tony smiles, kissing Peter’s ear. The boy nods, a small blush ghosting his cheeks. “Yeah baby, I’d be more than happy to. I think it’s time to clean up now baby. I’m sorry I made you bleed...”

Peter shakes his head, giggling softly. “It pushed me over the edge, so don’t apologize.”

Tony smiles and carries Peter to the bath. At least, he thinks to himself, Peter found a way to be happy with it.


	2. Prequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As requested, here is Peter’s abuse at the hands of his kidnappers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mutilation, amputations, body modification, rape, blood, violence, gore; this was intended to be as disturbing as possible.

Peter wakes up with a giant headache and more confusion than he’s used to dealing with. He’s blindfolded, he knows that much. And he thinks his hands are tied behind his back. His feet are connected to his wrists, and his knees are bent so it’ll work.

He starts to struggle, whimpering a bit. It hurts so bad, why does everything hurt? Why is he so weak? What the hell is going on?!

“Oh good, he’s awake,” Peter hears from his left. “You’re certain the drugs will keep him nice and weak and pliant?”

He hears a hum of affirmation, and someone on his right says “Yup. These drugs were designed to take out the winter soldier for a few hours. As long as we keep pumping him full of these drugs, he’ll be easy to control.”

Peter whimpers into the gag in his mouth. He doesn’t know why they want him, but he’s beyond scared. He just wants Tony to hold him and tell him he’s okay.

“Good. Are the cameras ready?”

“Yes boss, ready to go at your word.”

“Let’s rough him up a bit first. Once Iron daddy shows up, we won’t have any more time for fun before we’ll have to stop to take him down.”

Peter starts struggling even more. He wants Tony to save him, but not if it means that Tony will be the one hurting instead.

He whimpers as he feels a hand on his back. “And the second we start recording is the second he starts looking for us. We’ll have maybe an hour before he’s here, so we’ll need to start getting ready.”

Another voice grunts in assent, and then he feels a hand ripping the gag out of his mouth. “What do you think, pretty boy? How many hours can you last before your body just gives up?”

Peter sobs, not even trying to fight. He knows it won’t do any good. “D-do your w-worst! I’m s-spider man, I can take it!”

I’m hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have taunted them.

They start off in ways that aren’t _that_ bad. One grabs his head on both sides and yanks him up uncomfortably, straining his neck and making Peter cry out. He quickly shuts him up, shoving his dick down Peter’s throat.

Peter isn’t one to gag or choke all that often, what with Tony being his boyfriend. But this guy is _trying_ to make him choke. Peter is trying desperately to stay calm, but his body is against him on this. He chokes violently, his noises filling the air in such a disgusting way he almost feels sick. This guy isn’t being gentle, and the way he’s shoving his cock in and out of Peter’s throat is like he thinks Peter _can’t_ be physically hurt. But he can, Peter finds. Because it hurts.

And he still can’t see and he’s so dizzy and confused and scared- His lungs hurt even more, though. His face quickly goes red, eyes filling with tears and nose running. He can’t breathe, and Peter can hold his breath for much longer than a normal person, this is still scary and painful.

Not so scary and painful that he doesn’t notice the first person to put their cock up his ass. He screams around the dick in his mouth, tears spilling down his cheeks through the blindfold.

“Oh god, shit, that’s good. Fuck,” the guy above his head says. “Shit, he screams so good.”

Peter sobs, wishing he could spread his legs to make it hurt less but he’s still tied and fuck it _hurts_!

Peter feels like he’s drowning when the man finishes in his mouth, forcing him to swallow it all. When he _finally_ pulls out, Peter sobs and splutters, gasping desperately for air for his aching lungs.

The man behind him finishes right after, groaning. “God, he’s so tight when he’s scared.”

~

Several rounds of that later, they move Peter out of his position. He feels sick to his stomach, having swallowed so much cum. His hole is burning and leaking cum and blood, and his limbs ache from being tied in that position for so long.

They lay him down on a table, stick his neck with a needle and _ow_ , and ties his wrists and ankles to the table. “Now, for the _real_ fun. So many options to explore… what to do, what to do…”

Peter whimpers as his blindfold is torn off and shoved into his mouth instead. He blinks as he looks around, fear and pain making everything seem out of focus and fuzzy.

A man steps in his vision, smirking down at him. “How fast do you heal, pet?” Peter whimpers, knowing he wouldn’t be able to answer even if he wanted to. “Oh, right.” He slaps Peter across the face, and Peter huffs in annoyance. “Can’t talk. Well I guess we’ll have to find out the hard way!”

Peter screams in pain as a knife starts cutting along his middle, _just_ deep enough to get to the muscle without pushing through. This man must be a doctor or something…

The man smirks, pulling back his knife as he watches. He laughs in delight as it only takes half an hour to completely heal. “Impressive! And this means, I can have a lot more fun than I originally thought.”

Peter whimpers and closes his eyes, bracing for more pain. He screams out into the gag when the knife shoves its way into his thigh, down down down to the bone.

Peter slams his head into the table beneath him, sobbing and panting so hard he feels like he might pass out. He wonders, for a moment, if that would make this easier on him, or if it would make it worse.

The doctor drags the knife down Peter’s thigh, and he screams so hard he sees black spots in his vision. He can feel it scraping against his bone. He can feel his muscles tearing apart from the cut. He can feel the blood seeping out into the air and stinging behind the knife.

He wonders now, instead of if it _would_ be good if he passed out, how he _hasn’t_ already.

The doctor pulls the knife out with a grunt, and Peter flops back onto the table, shaking from head to toe in pain.

The doctor hums, pulling back. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful when you cry. No wonder Stark keeps you,” he puts the knife down on the table, smirking at Peter as he grabs something else. Peter whimpers in fear. “He won’t want to keep you after I’m done with you,” he promises. “And he won’t even know about most of the stuff you’ve gone through, by the time I’ve completed my art.”

Peter sobs, slamming his head back against the table again. He just wants to pass out. He doesn’t want to feel it anymore.

The man comes closer with the pliars, laughing evilly. “Tell me, Spider-Man. What’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt before? Was it when you died? When you dusted into nothing in the blip?” He attaches the pliars to the nail on his big toe and suddenly it clicks.

Peter screams and shakes his head, pulling at the restraints harder than before but it still doesn’t work.

The nails being pulled off wasn’t fun, but it was bearable. The nail being ripped from the bed, pulled away from where it was supposed to be, it was painful, but it wasn’t all that bad. It made Peter cry, made his chest heave.

But the doctor didn’t stop there. Of course he didn’t. He wanted to ruin Peter, wanted to make it so he can’t ever do anything with his life ever again.

Peter whimpers as the nail part is over, overwhelmed with stinging pain. The doctor puts down the pliars, and grabs a different tool; one that’s stronger and has bigger handles and-

And it attaches to his big toe and Peter knows.

He screams and begs into the gag, crying with all his might and projecting his voice so loud it hurts his own ears. He snaps Peter’s toes off, forcibly pealing the bone away from his foot.

Before was painful. This is _agony_.

Peter gets a break, after the doctor takes all his toes. He hears people recording him, laughing and talking to or about him. He feels delirious though. Everything is darker than usual, and the pain is throbbing and always _there_ …

And then, it somehow gets _worse_.

He can’t describe what it feels like, to have his feet cut off with a hand saw. He can’t describe the agony of his skin being raked through so carelessly. He can’t describe what it feels like to have his bones sawed through and destroyed. He doesn’t want to describe the sound his foot made when it finally disconnected from the rest of his body and landed on the floor.

He couldn’t tell you if he tried what it felt like to have a flame to his new stub, because it was so agonizing, everything went black.

They wake him up, of course. What fun would it be to tear Peter apart piece by piece if his screams don’t fill the air? If his begging doesn’t go ignored? If his tears don’t make a puddle?

They do the same thing to his hands and arms. Piece by piece taking apart Spider-Man until he’s nothing but a useless lump that can’t move.

He passes out again, after they cauterize his left arm stump. And he wakes up in the hospital, confused and afraid and-

“What- what- Tony- wha-“


End file.
